


Vows

by purpleshockblankets (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Implied Mystrade, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oops, Other, Sorry Not Sorry, Wedding, doesn't go as planned, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/purpleshockblankets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wedding of John Watson and Mary Morstan. Almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vows

**Author's Note:**

> So I was prompted by a picture of a tumblr post. It read:  
> Priest: "I, John"  
> John: I, John  
> Priest: "Take thee, Mary"  
> John: Take thee, Sherlock...... MARY!  
> *lestrade gasps*  
> *molly gasps*  
> *mycroft gasps from watching over security cameras*  
> Sherlock: He... he said "Sherlock", right?
> 
> I don't know who originally posted it to tumblr, if you do please let me know so I can credit them for it.  
> This is my response to their post.  
> SO FAR FROM CANON JUST SAYING  
> Also, getting formatting right on here is hard

Mary was a vision, the sunlight streaming through the chapel windows spotlighting her as she glided down the aisle. Even through the veil John could see her wide smile, the way her eyes crinkled. Her smile had been what caught his eye that day at the surgery. He'd been numb then, simply going through the motions; the pain of losing Sherlock had long since dulled, like the rest of his emotions, to grey. Mary and her smiles had slowly brought color back to life. And if a small voice in John's mind claimed they weren't as vibrant as they'd been before that day at St. Barts, he'd promptly shut it away and direct his focus back to the woman who was the best thing that could have happened to him.

She was almost to them now, her bridesmaids having already reached the altar and Janine just reaching the steps. He saw Janine grin at him before her gaze slid past. To Sherlock. He wondered if Sherlock was looking back, tried to picture his expression as he cataloged the widening of her smile, the interest in her eyes. Not that John could blame her – Sherlock was striking in his tuxedo, all that white and black emphasizing his pale skin and dark curls, making the colors of his eyes pop. Really, John thought he looked absolutely devastating, with his cheekbones and –

 _Snap out of it. Focus on Mary._ She was just reaching the steps now, and he kept eye contact with her as she ascended and he reached up to remove his top hat. Something grazed his back and he knew Sherlock had removed his as well. It seemed a bit strange for Sherlock to make the mistake of allowing it to brush against him, but he put it out of his mind.

Mary was in front of him now, reaching out to take his free hand. Her skin was soft as velvet, or maybe silk, and the veil flowed over her beaming face like a long, transparent waterfall. Sherlock had once said that if he wanted poetry, he'd read the emails John had written to his previous his girlfriends. “Much funnier,” he'd said. For a brief moment John thought that he may have had a point.

The priest cleared his throat, and John glanced towards him instinctively. His mum had told him once that only the bride wore white at weddings. Clearly the priest had missed the memo, because John was pretty positive his robe thing was whiter than Mary's dress. He supposed he might not be the one to make that call – “Lilac,” Sherlock had corrected him when he called the bridesmaids' dresses purple. He might ask Sherlock about varying colors of white later on, if he remembered. His best man could list 240 types of tobacco ash: colors would be, as he'd say, “child's play.”

The priest had been going on for some time now, talking about love and the sanctity of marriage and whatnot. John rather wished he'd get to the point. _Dull_. If he hadn't been smiling already, he would have as one of Sherlock's favorite words floated through his mind.

Mary squeezed his hand. She looked mildly amused now, as if she knew his thoughts had strayed as he waited for the vows. That was one of her best traits, her patient understanding. Their relationship would have been doomed without it, what with Sherlock's return, the bloody stag night, and most of all the broken state she'd found him in. She was an angel, blessing his life, calming his tempests. _Now that's poetic._

“John Hamish,” the priest addressed him. _I should have asked him not to say it. Wait, is it time for the vows?_ “Please repeat after me.”

*

Mycroft sat in the armchair by his library window, one leg draped over the other, arms resting on the chair's, and the handle of his umbrella grasped in his right hand. Projected on the wall opposite him was the live footage from a strategically placed camera in St. Mary's Church. He wasn't one for weddings, sentiment and all that, but the wedding between Dr. John Watson and Ms. Mary Morstan would likely be an eventful one, if only because his brother had been made a member of the wedding party. Already Mycroft had picked up on a few details that he found interesting: Sherlock's intentionally grazing his hat against John as he took it off; John favoring his right leg slightly when walking to the alter; the fact that Detective Inspector Lestrade had arrived without a date and sans a wedding ring. It was necessary, he told himself, that he notice details about the personal lives of those his brother associated with, especially after the “Jim from IT” situation. There was no sentiment involved, which was more than he could say for his brother. A memory of a young Sherlock begging to keep the dirty puppy he'd christened Redbeard flitted through Mycroft's mind.

Caring, he'd taught his brother after the dog's death, was not an advantage.

He lifted a tea cup from the tray placed beside him and took a sip as the priest prompted John to begin his vows.

*

“I, John Hamish Watson.”

Mary's smile had brightened somehow. This was it. Once he'd finished his vows, he was in this for life. This was the moment it had all led up to. Behind him, he heard Sherlock shift.

Could he avoid repeating his middle name? Probably not. “I, John Hamish Watson.”

After today, he would live with Mary permanently and his life in 221B would truly be a thing of the past. He would never again be woken at 3 am by Bach's Sonata No. 1, would never find another head in his fridge, wouldn't be the only one who remembered to buy milk.

His life was about to change, permanently. Mary was going to be his wife. He'd told Sherlock that this was the biggest and most important day of his life. And it is. It is. And now all he had to do was – Did Janine just wink? At... Sherlock? Of course it would have been intended for Sherlock, it isn't like she'd wink at the bloody priest. Had Sherlock seen it? How would he react? He'd winked at John before, when they'd first met. Would he wink at Janine?

“Take thee, Mary.”

No, Sherlock wouldn't wink back. Girlfriends weren't his area. But John swears Sherlock had felt something for Irene Adler. The Woman, he'd always call her. They're both beautiful women...  
Distracted now by his thoughts, John repeats on autopilot. “Take thee, Sherlo- Mary!! Take thee, Mary!”

He hears gasps from the front row – John can't help but turn his head to see Greg and Molly with their mouths wide open. He turns back to face Mary, whose smile has fallen away and now looks conflicted and hurt. He feels hot and cold all at once, he's sure his face is dark red and his hands feel clammy. He opens his mouth to say something, anything to make this better, but doesn't manage to get a single word out before he hears Sherlock's voice behind him.

“He... did he say...” The words are spoken quietly, a dazed quality to them, nothing at all like Sherlock's usual confidence. He spins around to face him, unthinkingly turning his back to Mary.  
Sherlock is staring at him, eyelashes fluttering, looking just as he did when John asked him to be his best man. John doesn't know what to say, because this time the response is completely warranted. He wishes desperately that _somebody_ would say _something_ , break the awkward tension and somehow make everything okay, but the church is deathly silent. It feels like hours before Sherlock opens his mouth again.

“He... he said 'Sherlock', right?”  
Sherlock's eyes haven't left John's face, but they seem distant, and John isn't sure Sherlock is asking any specific person, merely speaking aloud. A hand touches John's shoulder, and he realizes in horror that he hasn't said a word to Mary. He turns back towards her, mouth open but still not sure what to say, and freezes at the small smile on her lips.

She leans towards him, kisses his cheek, and whispers, “Don't let him get away.” And then she's walking back down the steps, down the aisle, and everybody is too shocked to say anything or move to stop her. As she walks out the door, Janine's voice rings out behind him.

“You've just lost a good woman. Now you'd had better take care of your best man.”

By the time John had snapped Sherlock out of his stupor Janine had cleared the room, inviting the guests to stay for the meal and following dance – they'd come all this way, might as well get something out of it. John sat with Sherlock in the front row, both staring at the place they'd just stood, where John was meant to get married and set in motion his happily ever after. Despite the emotions swirling around inside him, John took the biggest risk of his life.

“So... got a boyfriend?”

Sherlock's head turned so fast John heard it crack. His eyes darted around, observing John, who sat still, heart beating madly, waiting for him to finish his deductions.  
“I suppose... that depends.” Depends?

“On?”

Sherlock hesitated a moment before saying, “How would you feel about being my... goldfish?”

*

When Anthea entered the Mycroft Holmes' private library she found her employer leaning forward in his armchair, eyes riveted on the projected camera footage, paying no mind to the tea staining his dress shirt. She said nothing and turned to leave him to his spying. Before she'd pulled the door closed behind her, she heard him mutter something about how he didn't need a silver goldfish.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!! Comments and kudos are so very much appreciated! Let me know if you find mistakes and I'll fix them. It was so fun to write, thank you for reading!  
> ~Shock


End file.
